It's a quiet Ushuaia Saturday morning, even for the already quiet city. The sun rises at 5:30 casting long rays through the silent clouds rolling and tumbling over the surrounding peaks. You sit in a mildly inebrious state for a few minutes and watch the life come to painting.
"You're at the...end... of the world" you think to yourself, mouthing the words. And yet it feels strange.
A week ago you were traveling, pressing, trudging, moving with the same motivation of the greatest explorers to simply to arrive. It was always further, to the south, to the end...and now you're here. So why uneasy?
For the necessity of money you landed a job as a waiter, it's alright, a few hours each night, the bosses are a bit cold and reserved, but the job pays the booze. Yet all the same, it's time to move. Becoming comfortable sleeping with a reliable roof, bed, and money is the sole reason why you feel uncomfortable...and the road's a callin'.
"You're at the...end... of the world" you think to yourself, mouthing the words. And yet it feels strange.
A week ago you were traveling, pressing, trudging, moving with the same motivation of the greatest explorers to simply to arrive. It was always further, to the south, to the end...and now you're here. So why uneasy?
For the necessity of money you landed a job as a waiter, it's alright, a few hours each night, the bosses are a bit cold and reserved, but the job pays the booze. Yet all the same, it's time to move. Becoming comfortable sleeping with a reliable roof, bed, and money is the sole reason why you feel uncomfortable...and the road's a callin'.
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